


Sail Away

by Rehfan



Series: White Ladder [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More angst, Sailing, Sexual Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's plans for a romantic weekend getaway with Mary are foiled... by John.</p>
<p>The arc of a relationship. Two people who are meant to be with one another will always find one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sherlock Johnlock fanfic that is based on the music of David Gray's album, White Ladder. Each chapter is named after each track in sequence and is headed with a quote from that particular song.
> 
> The album was released in 1999, but it's one of my favorite albums and it is available for download on iTunes. Please download it. You won't regret it.
> 
> Part Nine can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryoykj8us00
> 
> Also: if you want to know what the boat looks like for this story, you can find it here:   
> http://www.suncap.fr/litebox/images/location/itama38_2.jpg  
> and here:  
> http://suncap.fr/litebox/images/occasion/35-1.jpg

“Sail away with me honey  
Put my heart in your hands.”

 

 

“John?” said Mary. It was the first time she’d spoken since they left the flat twenty minutes ago headed for Cornwall.

“Hmm?” said John, concentrating on the motorway traffic. Who knew that a Friday in the middle of the afternoon would be so damn crowded?

“I’m sorry about the cup,” she said softly. “It was stupid. It was only a cup.”

“Oh, love,” he said, glancing at her. “Don’t worry about it. It’s over and done with. It was… It’s fine. Never mind about it now.” He reached for the radio. A soft mix of pop music came over the speakers.

They didn’t speak again until John stopped for petrol somewhere outside of Exeter some three hours later. John thought it unusual, but didn’t broach the subject. He was actually rather enjoying the silence. The radio was helping fill any obvious gaps in their lack of communication, so it was fine, really.

As he got back in the car, and pulled out of the station, Mary said softly and without preamble: “John, are you in love with Sherlock Holmes?”

Fortunately John had not yet pulled out onto the access road back to what remained of the M5 because if he had, he would surely have driven right into a ditch. “What?” he asked her. The car behind them sounded their horn. John snapped out of his shock and lurched the car forward, his mind spinning.

“You dream about him,” Mary said to the window. She didn’t want to see his face. She knew the look on it would destroy her. She knew she was right about this. It was more than just the nights and days chasing after criminals. It was the way he would talk about Sherlock. It was the way he looked at him. It was the way Sherlock looked at John when he thought no one would notice. Sherlock always looked… forlorn. Mary could smell the desire on Sherlock in those moments. Women know about these things.

She had let it go, hoping that she was wrong but the other night when he drifted off to sleep, John murmured goodnight to Sherlock. It broke her heart. She had to know the truth. They had to sort this out.

“Are you in love with Sherlock Holmes?” she repeated, pronouncing each word carefully.

“No, Mary,” he said in a very measured manner. He watched her carefully.

John felt his stomach knot at the lie. He also felt his leg twinge something awful. Alright, alright… that’s enough. Somehow his heart had staged a coup against his brain and had rallied the rest of his body in a protest against him.

“I see,” she said. She never took her eyes from the world out the window.

 

~080~

 

Silence reigned in the car for the next hour.

Finally John couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned off the radio. “What do you mean that I dream about him?” he asked.

“Just what I said,” she replied. “You have nightmares sometimes. I’ve gotten used to them. Most of the time you sleep through them. But you always cry out for him. You’re always apologizing to him too.”

John’s mouth went dry. “Mary, I—I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “I never meant for you to know about the nightmares. That’s why I started with the sleep meds. I thought they would help.”

“Oh you sleep, alright. You sleep right through all the shouting you do,” she said. A bitter tone was beginning to creep into her voice. She had been dealing with this for longer than John realized. “Why do you think I haven’t been waking you when you fall asleep in the middle of the sitting room?” she asked. Her anger forced her to look at him. John couldn’t do anything but stare at the road ahead.

“You always shout out his name. Always,” she said. “It’s as if he’s always in trouble and you have to help him. But John, he’s a grown man. He can lead his own life. Why do you have to run off at all hours with him, sometimes disappearing for days, only to finally come home and dream about him too?”

She began to cry.

“Oh Mary,” said John. “No… love, please don’t do that.” He pulled the car over, unfastened his seat belt and reached out to comfort her. She pushed his hands away.

“Mary, listen to me,” said John, his eyes pleading. “I love you and I want to be with you. I wanted this weekend to be special. Just for the two of us. You and me. Alone. No cases, no Sherlock, no London, no nothing. Doesn’t that sound good?

“Mary… listen… They’re just nightmares. They’re of no consequence. I’m sorry that I disturbed you so much with them. Please know that I didn’t mean it. I can’t control my subconscious mind, love. Please.

“You are the one I want. Yours is the face I want to see. Please, love. Mary. Sweetheart.”

His hands had been searching for a safe place to touch her where she wouldn’t flinch or cringe away. She seemed to soften at his words, even chancing a glance at his open, earnest face. His hand found her hair and he stroked it gently, soothingly.

He smiled at her. “There’s my beauty,” he said warmly. She collapsed in his arms and remained there for some minutes, the only sound to be heard were the cars humming along what remained of the M5.

 

~080~

 

They made their way along the Chyandour Cliff Road, rolling down the windows to catch the sea air. Penzance was beautiful. A quaint little fishing village for centuries, it was the largest western-most town in Cornwall; the perfect place for a romantic getaway. They checked into their B&B and went straight to bed, both of them sleeping soundly.

The morning greeted them and they went for their first sailing lesson. As promised by the charter company, they were on the water by sunset on that same day. They took the Itama 38’ craft along Mounts Bay, moving out into the Channel for a bit and then back to the safety of the harbor. John and Mary loved every minute of it. Skies were clear, a light breeze kissed the air and they were having the time of their lives. It was the best decision they had ever made.

The boat was theirs for the whole of the next day and they left early from the dock, both of them excited at the freedom of it all. They had brought things to snack on as it had a small galley and planned to spend the entire day on the water soaking up the sun, having a swim, and generally enjoying each other. They weighed anchor in Mounts Bay away from the main sea traffic heading into and out of the port and changed into their swim clothes.

John chased Mary in the water like a shark, pulling at her legs from under the water. As soon as he’d surface, she’d splash him, causing him to sputter. This would then be followed by kisses and a saucy grope of body parts, until one of them dunked the other and the whole cycle would start again. Exhausted, they finally boarded the boat and lay in the sun on the aft deck.

“Would you like to go below decks for some… lunch?” asked Mary, turning to John and shading her eyes from the sun. Her skin had been getting pinker by the hour and John suspected she was looking for an excuse to have a bit of shade.

“Sounds good,” he murmured back at her. There were cushions supplied on the aft of the ship that provided a wonderful place to get tan and dry from the swim they had earlier. The sun and the motion of the rocking boat were making them both sleepy.

She frowned. She tried a different approach. She lifted up onto her elbows and inspected her tan line at her hip. “Ugh. I’m getting too red, I think. Best apply more sun cream.” She looked over at him expectantly. When he didn’t move, she punched his arm lightly.

“Ow!” he said, startled.

“Some boyfriend you are!” she said, only pretending to be insulted.

“I thought you were going below to get lunch together,” he said. “What?”

“That was a hint as well, you berk!” she said. Apparently, ‘lunch’ was an innuendo that John had missed.

“Oh… OH!” he said. She smiled slyly and rose delicately to the deck. He scrambled to his feet and followed her below.

 

~080~

 

The bed at the prow was as wide as the ship and cozy without being claustrophobic. Windows in the ceiling provided peeks of sunlight that dipped and swayed with the motion of the sea. Their wet swim clothes were discarded at the door.

Mary lay on top of John and kissed him passionately. All the teasing had finally gotten to her and she was randy as hell. John lay back and let her take the lead. He loved the way her hair came down and over her face, dragging over his body and teasing him with its softness against his skin. He moved the hair out of his way so that he could watch her kissing down his torso. He was already hard for her.

She looked at him as she hovered over his arousal. John found himself holding his breath. Was she going to suck his cock? She didn’t do it very often. It only happened when she was in the mood. Was she going to give him a hand job? Was she just going to mount and ride him to orgasm? The agony of not knowing was killing him.

Finally she smiled a wicked grin and licked the tip of his cock. Oh yes… yes… it was that kind of a moment.

“God yes… please suck me off, Mary. God please,” John begged. Mary’s wicked grin spread wide and she gently guided his cock to her mouth with one hand and cupped his balls with the other. “Oh dear Jesus, yes… Mary. Yes…”

She put her mouth down around his glans and shaft. Fuck. Damn that felt good. John moaned his approval to her, lifting his head back at the sensation. She pulled back and off of his dick entirely with a wet pop. John looked back at her. She was still smiling, her expression impish.

She stuck her tongue out flat and slapped his cock tip against it over and over. The sensation was strange, but not unpleasant and John couldn’t suppress a smile at her attempt at being seductive. She didn’t particularly care for sucking dick and as a result, she wasn’t aware of what worked and what didn’t in her partners. Today, her lack of experience in giving blow jobs was never more apparent. What she was doing was nice, but it was not what worked for John. But then, Mary wasn’t Sherlock.

Damn it all to hell!

What the fuck?

John put his head back on the pillow to hide his expression from Mary. He moaned to make her think he was enjoying her ministrations. She was licking and sucking along his shaft. Again, not bad, but it didn’t really hit the spot. Not like Sherlock could.

That man could do things to his cock that should be considered illegal. His tongue, lips, vocal chords, and even his teeth got in on the act. He always used just the right pressure, teasing and mouth-fucking his frenulum and glans until John was completely undone. John would never forget those blazing blue eyes staring up at him, watching his every reaction, recording his every response. Sherlock sucking cock was a goddamn thing of beauty.

John wanted Mary to be more like that, but he didn’t want to instruct her. He thought she would be insulted as this was not something that she wanted to do by nature. He was afraid if he told her what to do that she would be hurt and stop doing it entirely. That would truly be awful. Bad enough that he missed Sherlock in these moments, but to have even mediocre blow jobs disappear forever would be criminal.

John faked his way through her cock sucking until Mary came up for air. He felt badly about it, but she thought she was doing him a huge favor, so he let it go. The only problem was, he was now more frustrated than ever. He wanted to come so close to coming and then have her back off only to be brought to the brink again, over and over. But the way they were going, it wasn’t going to happen for him like that. He decided to take matters into his own hands and in such a way where they would both be satisfied.

John flipped them both over, reached into his bag on the edge of the bed and got out the lube. If he was going to think about Sherlock giving him a blow job, he was at least going to orgasm.

Mary’s eyes lit up when she saw the bottle. “Really, John?” she asked, delighted. “Are you going to fuck me up the arse?” When he nodded in the affirmative, she rolled over onto her stomach and placed her arse high in the air. She wanted it so badly she was panting and whining.

John rolled on a condom and licked her arsehole, opening her up and causing her to moan louder than she normally would at home. Out on the water there were no neighbors to overhear. John loved the volume of her moan and it sent heat directly to his cock. He wanted to bury himself in this detective--- no… Mary. Mary… damn it.

“Fuck me, John,” she begged. “Please fuck me… you know I want it… I want to feel you inside me. Come on, John… please.”

“Shh, love,” he said to her softly, spreading a liberal amount of lube over his fingers. “You know we have to go slowly with this. I need to open you up first. This is only our third time.” And with that, he slowly stuck one of his fingers inside her opening. Instantly, she pressed her hips back over his hand.

He fucked her with one finger, then two, then three, each creating a pressure inside of her that caused her to moan and say the most lascivious things. John kissed and caressed her arse and her lower back, raising goose flesh along her skin.

“I think you’re ready now, love,” he said. This was beginning to be his favorite part. He felt a bit guilty about it, but was too caught up in the moment to let it get its hooks into him. He positioned himself and pushed the length of his erection inside of her, slowly, achingly, wanting to savor every moment of it.

Instantly, he was back in bed with Sherlock.

It was a lazy Sunday evening in the beginning of their relationship. Another case in the bag, John was blogging about it on Sherlock’s bed, lying in nothing but his towel. Sherlock and he had just taken their showers separately (John would be damned if Sherlock was going to get all that blood all over him in the bath) and Sherlock was eating Chinese out of a carton while sitting in bed and criticizing John’s blog title choice.

‘The Lying Detective’? I never lied! Not once! Absolute slander and libel. I won’t have you blogging that,” said Sherlock. As he pointed over John’s shoulder with his loaded chopsticks, one of his lo mien noodles dropped on John’s naked back. John looked at the offending food and back at Sherlock.

“Right,” John said, exasperated. “Where are the napkins?”

Sherlock bent over John’s back and put his mouth over the noodle, sucking it in and causing John to gasp. Sherlock raised his head high enough to catch John’s eye. John gave him a sly grin, took the Chinese from him, placed both the food and the laptop on the floor and opened his towel, exposing his backside to Sherlock.

Sherlock positioned himself between John’s legs and began licking and sucking John’s arse cheeks. John moaned at the sensation of that incredible mouth and tongue and then jumped when Sherlock gave a little nip to either cheek. His hands (those hands!) massaged his arse, moving across his skin and causing goose flesh to break out all over his body.

Sherlock paused. He seemed to be considering something. John was just going to say something to him, but then, tentatively, Sherlock separated John’s arse cheeks and touched the tip of his tongue to John’s arsehole. Oh that was good… that was so damn good. Please Sherlock… more… more.

“More, John,” said Mary. She writhed her hips in a circular motion, wanting to feel him all over. John steadied his strokes, making them long and deep with an extra thrust at the end that made Mary’s breath shudder. She truly loved to be fucked like this. She looked like such a little dirty whore when she begged for it. Somewhere deep inside John, that image worked for him.

“Like that?” he asked her as he thrust into her for the second time.

“Oh dear God, yes!” she shouted. “Keep going, baby… I want to come for you.”

I want to come for you, Sherlock…

At John’s encouragement, Sherlock probed deeper with his tongue and John helped him by raising his arse, slowly tilting his pelvis to give Sherlock better access. John could feel the hot, wet pressure of Sherlock’s tongue as it breeched him. Holy fuck that was good. It felt so completely different and just plain… right – all at the same time. Why hadn’t they done this before?

In that moment, John knew he wanted Sherlock inside him.

But that’s not what Sherlock had in mind. He reached into the bedside table for their lube and slicked up the fingers of one hand. “Turn over, John,” he said.

John was dazed from the sensation of Sherlock’s tongue in his arse and complied easily. He spread his legs wide for Sherlock, expecting him to put his hot cock inside his arse, but Sherlock did him one better. Sherlock went down on John.

Sherlock’s ability to swallow John’s cock in one go was something of which John was in awe. He did it so seemingly effortlessly that it was like watching a professional athlete in slow motion. Those gorgeous black curls would sink down over his throbbing member and the sensation alone would exist: tight suction, hot, wet, tongue, and just the hint of teeth, everything John could want in a cock-sucking, Sherlock provided.

“Christ almighty…” said John. Mary moaned a reply. She was blissed out with the feeling of John deep inside her.

Careful, boy. Watch yourself. Mary’s here, not Sherlock.

Ahh… fuck. Sherlock had teased his frenulum to the point where John was on the edge. I’m going to come, Sherlock… please… oh God please… let me come. Sherlock grasped the base of John’s shaft gently, staving off his orgasm.

Ohh… more, Sherlock. I need more.

“Very well, John,” said Sherlock. He placed one of his slicked-up fingers at John’s entrance and stroked John’s cock lazily. John tilted his pelvis up, closed his eyes, and grabbed the duvet. Fuck, that’s amazing. Oh dear God… more, Sherlock. More. Push it in… come on, lover… push it in. I want this…

Sherlock’s fingers were made for fucking. Long and slender, they were the perfect instrument to affect a prostate. When Sherlock’s first finger entered John, he hissed with pleasure. He was expecting it to be rough going, suspecting that this was Sherlock’s first practical foray into manual prostate stimulation, but here he was, writhing under the ministrations of a man who was clearly a natural – born to do it.

Sensations shot away down John’s legs, up his torso. His nipples were instantly erect and tender, aching to be touched and kissed. John was beyond articulating with words. Sherlock increased his pressure and his stroke on John’s cock. By the time Sherlock had two fingers in, he was back to sucking dick. The sensation of both at once was almost too much to bear.

“Fuck!” said John. “Yes… that’s it. Oh… just like that. Damn it.” He was still plowing into Mary but the measured stroke he was using had increased. He was so close to coming, he didn’t want to let go of his fantasy. Sherlock sucked such good cock. And what with the prostate stimulation, it was as if he were given a drug that caused him to see God. He wanted Sherlock so badly. He wanted to enter that man and make him scream his name.

“Oh yes, Sherlock… oh God, Sherlock… so fucking good,” said John. “That’s it… come on. Come on…”

Mary’s eyes went wide.

John’s orgasm crested and fell over him. His body trembled uncontrollably as he slid out of Mary and onto the mattress. Vaguely he heard Mary get up and go to the head.

He didn’t hear her come back. 

John sat bolt upright.

Oh fuck.

No. No no no no no NO!

 

~080~

 

He found her in the aft of the boat, her robe wrapped around her naked frame. The sun was still shining, the breeze still blowing, the town was still quaint, but for John, his world had stopped entirely.

“Mary?” he said softly. She didn’t respond. She just looked out onto the English Channel, silent tears running down her face. He knew what she needed to hear. It pained him, not because he was caught in a lie. The lie he could deal with. It pained him to tell her the truth, because he wanted so badly for that truth to be different. He wanted to love her with the same intensity that he loved Sherlock. But it just wasn’t…

It just wasn’t.

He sat next to her on the cushions and followed her gaze to the far horizon. This speech was long in coming, but hard to manage. The calm rocking of the boat helped. It provided a grounding feeling for what was turning into the most surreal part of John and Mary’s relationship.

“I wasn’t lying all those times when I told you I loved you,” he began. She said nothing. It was as if she was waiting for it. “I do love you. Just not enough.”

“Why did you even get in this relationship, John?” she asked. It was a good question. Why did he? As a sick form of emotional torture for himself? It certainly wasn’t meant to hurt Mary. But it did. Mary was a real person with real feelings and, try as he might, his feelings for Sherlock always trumped his feelings for Mary. It was as if everything his heart wanted to accomplish with Mary got superimposed with his love for Sherlock. His heart was marked for life.

“When I met you… Sherlock and I… had broken up,” he said. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Bad enough she knew he fantasized. This was the moment when she would find out that those fantasies were based in reality.

Mary visibly stiffened but she didn’t tear her eyes from the sea.

“Sherlock broke it off,” he continued. “He said that we were too much of a distraction to one another. It was all bollocks, of course. Looking back, I see that he was just scared. He used a flimsy excuse to make himself feel better, more comfortable. I let him have his way thinking that he’d see his error and start flirting with me or something. But I underestimated the Holmes pride. And we just stayed apart.

“Crime scene investigations were like torture for me at first. But after a while, we just got into a comfortable rhythm. Now it’s a well-rehearsed dance ‘round that three hundred pound gorilla in the room.” He glanced at her. Her eyes went dead somewhere in the middle of his speech. It was like a stab to his heart.

“I met you three months after Sherlock broke us up,” he said. “I thought it was over. You were beautiful. I was an idiot. You boosted my ego. You were everything Sherlock was not. It was a wonderful change. You were like a breath of fresh air. I couldn’t get enough. I loved you for that, Mary,” he said. He looked at her earnestly, turning to face her. “I will always love you for that.”

“Just not enough,” she replied flatly. John hung his head.

“Just not enough,” he agreed. He looked out to the sea seeking whatever escape he could find in the calm horizon and the vivid white sails of other boats on the water.

“I loved you, John Watson,” she said, finally looking at him. “I loved you and you betrayed me. Not with malicious intent, granted. But you betrayed me all the same. You lied to yourself and therefore to me. You’ve cut me down, John. Just cut me to the damn quick.

“I asked you on the way here if you loved him and you lied to me,” she continued. “That’s what hurts the most. It’s bad enough that you were lying to yourself and still trying to have a relationship with me. Some people live in denial for years. But that time you lied to my face. You did that intentionally. And I want to know why.”

“I did,” he admitted. He was not proud. He was violently ashamed. “I did lie to you and I’m so so sorry, Mary. You deserved better than that. But I honestly don’t want to love him. He’s so… Sherlock. He’s difficult and moody and when he’s bored he’s unbearable. But, God help me, I am desperately in love with that man.” He faced her again. “I lied to you because I wanted to cling to the hope that we could still be together. I thought if we could just be alone, just the two of us, out of London, then I may have a chance to really focus on us.”

“But we’re never really alone, John,” she said frankly. “You have Sherlock all over you: in your head, in your heart, in your dreams, in your fantasies. We’re never alone because the spectre of Sherlock bloody Holmes looms over everything we do! He’s there in every corner of every room. His eyes are the ones you see when you close yours at night. You love him, not me… Oh God…” Mary began to cry. She fell sideways into his chest and he held her and rocked her.

Balancing his head on hers, he thought about their relationship as she wept. He never meant to hurt her, but what possible ending could this have had? The moment that he fantasized about Sherlock during their lovemaking should have been a violent wake-up call. All those signs that had cropped up over the past eight months -- the nightmares, the pain in his leg, the fantasies – they should have pointed him in the right direction. Instead he chose (he chose!) to ignore them and press on with Mary. He moved in with her. They had a life. What the hell was he thinking? How could he have done this to her?

All John could do was press kisses to the top of her head and wait for her to stop crying. When she did, he tilted her face to his. He knew she didn’t want to be kissed. He just looked at her. They memorized each other’s faces for what seemed like an hour, John stroking Mary’s face gently, keeping the wind from blowing her hair in her eyes. Mary looked at him; the deadness in her eyes was all but gone. It was replaced by a few different emotions, sadness being chief among them. There was exhaustion, disappointment, regret, pain, and… was that bittersweet resignation? Yes, it was. She was not going to fight this. She knew she had lost.

Mary had conceded defeat.


	2. Sherlock's Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is focused. He has a purpose again. And his head is finally on board with his heart.
> 
> The arc of a relationship. Two people who are meant to be with one another will always find one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Sherlock Johnlock fanfic that is based on the music of David Gray's album, White Ladder. Each chapter is named after each track in sequence and is headed with a quote from that particular song.
> 
> The album was released in 1999, but it's one of my favorite albums and it is available for download on iTunes. Please download it. You won't regret it.
> 
> Part Nine can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryoykj8us00
> 
> Also: if you want to know what the boat looks like for this story, you can find it here:   
> http://www.suncap.fr/litebox/images/location/itama38_2.jpg  
> and here:  
> http://suncap.fr/litebox/images/occasion/35-1.jpg

"Through all the times I tasted love   
Never knew quite what I had   
Little darling if you hear me now   
Never needed you so bad."

 

“Hey mister!” said a young voice.

Sherlock Holmes turned around and noticed a football sitting at his feet. He placed his binoculars down on the sea wall and picked up the ball. He looked at the three boys curiously. One of them reminded him of John: sandy blonde hair, rugged appearance. Only this child’s eyes were crystalline blue like Sherlock’s.

As he tossed the ball back to them and watched them leave, he vaguely wondered about the advances man has made in genetic splicing. If John and he were to ever have a child… but no. He shook the ridiculously impossible thought away and picked up his binoculars once again.

To all appearances, he looked like just another tourist visiting Penzance. His hooded jacket, jeans, and Converse trainers were all so different than his apparel in London, even John wouldn’t recognize him. But Sherlock was there with a singular purpose.

He kept his gaze trained on the Itama 38’ craft and its two occupants.

He saw them both splashing and swimming and rolled his eyes. Disgusting display.

He saw them both disappear below decks. The way John chased her, Sherlock was sure they were going to copulate. An hour later, Mary appeared. She was visibly upset. Something had happened that was not in her plans. A moment later, John appeared. They talked, John doing most of the talking. He was apologizing for something. Obvious. But what?

Mary collapsed on him. She was crying. Sherlock could tell that from the way her breathing was stuttered. John rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. He was consoling her. She was hurt and John had caused that hurt. What had he done?

They stared at each other, not moving, not kissing. What did that mean?

John got up and said something to her, holding out his hand. She nodded and got up. They embraced and smiled at one another. All seemed to be forgiven. But there was still something amiss.

Sherlock grunted in frustration. He wished he could hear what was going on. He was good at tangible evidence, not this human interaction crap. And certainly not at a distance.

Mary went below decks while John pulled anchor. Were they were coming in to port? John started the engine and turned the boat to starboard. They were coming in. But why? Weren’t they happy where they were? Something was definitely amiss.

More data was required.

 

~080~

 

This was as natural as breathing to Sherlock. His brain was deliciously busy thinking about the problem that was John Watson. It was good not to be bored.

Cursory inspection of the boat didn’t lead to much and Sherlock left the dock as quietly as he had come. Night had fallen on Penzance and Sherlock made his way from the docks to the second storey of the empty office building across the street from the B&B in which John and Mary had taken a room.

Mary was clearly asleep in the bed. But where was John?

A hand appeared in Sherlock’s view. He moved over to the next window for a better angle into the corner of their room and saw John on a divan in the corner, blanket over him, sound asleep. Sherlock’s heart leapt in his chest at the sight of a sleeping John.

Oh, what that man does to me.

Sherlock’s clever brain pulled itself away from ‘John Thoughts’ and put the pieces together. But of course…it makes sense: the smashed cup, the crying on the boat, the separate sleeping arrangements. It was as he suspected. This was their last hurrah. One final attempt at salvaging their relationship before it was declared dead.

Sherlock smiled, packed his things and took the first train he could get in the morning. He had to get back to London. He had arrangements to make.

John Watson would be coming home to 221B.


End file.
